Amber-tinted Smoke
by Aleyanne
Summary: A tune that didn't even seem like a tune anymore Castiel/Lysander Slash


**I don't even… I swear I was studying. I hope it's not that OOC. Let there be slash… Again.**

 **Amber-tinted smoke**

 _Don't look ahead, just run to me, each step will find the next one recklessly_

Demon was out of food again and nudging him every ten seconds or so. Castiel groaned, lifting his head from the armrest and hearing his spine creak – _pop, pop, pop how long have you been sitting here? How long? -_ The bag of dog food was somewhere below the sink, half full still, he put half of what was left in the bowl, not particularly caring hat it was too much, maybe that'd keep the canide away for a few more hours than usual.

Demon was eating less than usual.

They hadn't been out further than the backyard in a while either.

Maybe those were related.

There wasn't much to do in town –except there was, he just didn't want to do anything- so he stayed there, chain smoking, feeding Demon every few hours and watching crappy infomercials, eating the odd cup of instant noodles when his stomach grumbled too loudly.

Humming that song – _Since he left, you've been sitting here since he left-_ that damned song.

He had never been the social type, lying beside his couch for three days with the intention to go buy booze at some point, was still a new low though.

Lysander would've been mad.

Quiet rage, expressive eyes, muffled moans, distracted smiles. Lysander would've probably been one of those if he was there. But he wasn't, so he didn't matter, Castiel was doing fine by himself and maybe he'd get up later and play the guitar and answer one of his mother's voicemails for once – _It's your fault that he left, your fault-_.

But he didn't and hours passed and at eight pm with the lights dimmed down and a muted TV in front of him he ran out of cigarettes. Going out was unpleasant, the sticky, warm air made his skin clammy, and the store was too far away, he walked with the heavy steps of an empty man, head occupied in nothing to distract himself from what was everything, wind blowing through his windpipe and making his vocal chords vibrate in a tune.

A tune that didn't even seem like a tune anymore, being alone with his demons, still in that room, endlessly looping that tune that seamlessly melded its first and final notes, he had gone a little mad with expectation that the door hadn't closed behind that back for the last time.

It probably had, lying to himself wouldn't alleviate the thoughts, he reminded himself. It didn't help with Debrah; it wouldn't help with Lys-.

Damn, still too soon to think of that name.

A wounded gaze, acid like words from one, razor sharp silence from the other, downcast mismatched eyes.

He got the cigarettes from the usual guy, the seedy looking one with tattoos up his neck, and sat on the sidewalk to watch the smoke rise. However early it was, the town never had much in the way of nightlife, the streets were empty, the smoke curled around itself, beautiful though he wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.

Class started the next day, he'd go.

Probably show up only to first period but he'd go. Heart filled with little metallic pebbles, colored in yellow and green, it'd weight itself sown until it suffocated him, and he'd be glad, oh he'd be glad when the weight filled him enough that he'd learn not to feel it _–Guilt, that's what that weight is, guilt-._

Lynn'd blow a fuse from overthinking her pretty head off, he looked like hell and felt like it too. The back ache from the couch and the floor wouldn't recede, painkillers did nothing if he kept at it, and sleeping in his bed was not an option.

There was always his parent's.

Fuck no

The couch/floor it was

A few silver strands probably remained in that bed, or a whiff of that smell. The first day he had found a handkerchief, it was still on the floor where it had fallen after Castiel let go of it like it burned.

Living alone had given him that advantage, free space, free time, for a lover that in all his demureness was demanding, for a best friend whose company was the only one that he withstood for extended periods of time.

Cigarettes burned out, one after another and another, his feet beat the sidewalks, the town was small, everywhere there were memories waiting to jump him and break the thin clotting over his fresh wound.

The knife was still stuck there anyway.

His mouth formed words that wouldn't leave his mind and his throat hummed that song, and they mixed into an unrecognizable jumble that did not clear out unless it was to let one or other little thing slip out to remind him how much of an asshole he was

Everything had been said as he wanted it, everything taken as he had expected.

But everything felt a hundred times worse, and he had calculated that it'd be just about how it was with Debrah.

Yet his reasons, ah his reasons. Even now he wanted to justify himself from all of the injustice. Things had a certain order and he'd broken it, trampled all over it with those moments when things had been too perfect. After all, it would have happened eventually, like it had with her. So this time he ended it himself and spared his heart the surprise.

The other had begun getting this look in his eyes anyway, and knowing him like he did, Castiel had been sure that the overthinking just meant that he was planning to have it end - _Fear, you coward, you hurt him out of mere fear-_ that look was the one the other got when gaining insight on something. A realization if you will.

Streetlights blind him a bit every time he looks up, so his eyes stay in the sidewalk and the smoke and on Lysander's apartment complex two blocks away. The huge building rose over every other in the street, he had been there many times, not as many as Lysander had been to his house, but still, it had been often enough.

Hooded eyes, a warm body arching into his, that warm sensation in the pit of his stomach when he'd smile, that damned song.

Castiel stood in front of it, between two streetlamps, in the place where the least light reached, running scenarios through his head. None ended well, whether he had been right of wrong about the other's intentions and feelings, everything he could say or do if he went in ended in him being anywhere in between pathetic or unforgivable in the mind of the other. Permitting such a thing was totally against who he was, so he just stood there for a while, the smoke gone because his throat felt dry and hurt like a bitch and skin clammy from the humid heat. No one passed by him, not even the odd car, it was eleven pm and the doorman was looking at him from across the street with an accusatory frown.

That man liked Lysander; Castiel almost spat, who didn't like Lysander?

Half an hour later found him turning on his heel and stepping into the amber light, another cigarette in his mouth despite the protests of his throat _–Hating yourself over it serves no purpose other than killing yourself-._ Some random thing inside his chest and his head pulled him back to the building, what was he to do there though? The words were said, the break messy and painful, would heal. Those hands would never be on his skin again, and the other would b happy and Castiel would be Castiel, eventually it would die, that lo- _Love, love, can't you even think of the word, you've been reducing yourself to less than a person for days, and it's because you love him, it is love-._

Confusion, recognition, shame, guilt bubbling up his throat as a hand came from behind him and swung him around with surprising strength and roughness.

But that face was everything but strong, Castiel could see the cracks through the porcelain. The dark circles and gaunt cheeks and messy hair.

Lysander was wearing a normal shirt and sleeping pants.

If he was anyone else, he would have wanted to cry.

"What are you doing here?"

"None of your business" He roughly shoved the other man's hand off. "Can't I take a walk without you intruding?"

Mismatched eyes widened, betrayal reflecting on them, he had never been this rude to the gentle man "Peter rang me up, you have been here since nine"

"Nosy fucker" He muttered lowly, stepping forward only to find that one of those hands was again holding to his shirt.

"If you came here, maybe you want to say something" The other said in a conciliatory tone, though through clenched teeth and trembling despite the heat. "If you do not I'll go back inside"

"Should I have anything to say to you? Tch. Didn't you hear me on Thursday?"

The hand loosened its grip, but didn't let go. It felt more like a kid's grip then, Lysander's hand was shaking. He wanted to turn back and actually say what he'd been thinking for three days while he barely moved from his couch, but this was probably the man's last ditch attempt at saving their friendship. Lysander had never been a bad man, and if anything Castiel knew that there was some appreciation for him in the other man. Still, he'd broken off for a reason, why should he put himself in a vulnerable position, if there was a chance that he'd just end up officially rejected _–Liar, you are just an arrogant ass that would rather end it all in a bad note than admit that all you told him were lies, just because you fear that he wouldn't forgive you-._

"Why?" The other let go completely, voice like the whisper of silk sliding against glass "If you hate me you don't have to confuse me like this. You said you wanted me away, and I understand that I do not mean as much to you, so why do you show up here? To twist the knife further? "

He stared straight ahead, and took one step, and another, and another. All of his thought processes concentrating on that one action of bending each of his legs and pushing it forward while the other's words got archived somewhere else rather than left alone to sink in.

And then something broke through his defense mechanism, six notes, then three, a long one. That damned song.

Castiel started listening again, he stopped on his tracks, as the previous words sank in, he could hear retreating footsteps and sharp intakes of breath. Like a sort of reverse Orpheus he looked back, standing to gain it all and with nothing left to lose.

Shaking shoulders, he was taller but hunched over, that damed song a figure growing slowly but steadily smaller.

In a trance like state his legs propelled him forward, he didn't run, just took long strides, thoughts arranging themselves in unfamiliar patterns as his legs took him closer and closer to the slowly retreating man.

His hands came up to grab the other's shirt.

Lysander froze. "If you are playing with me, or pitying me, let go" his voice broke "Please"

And his fists loosened, the other slumped a bit and made to take off.

Hands moved then, Castiel's to be more exact, and turned the silver haired man around.

The mismatched eyes were slightly red and very glassy. Pain. And they looked up at him expectantly.

Lysander had talked too much, both then and before. It was his turn.

"I… didn't mean it"

"What part of it?

"Everything" Castiel's eyes were fixated on the ground; he pulled the man a little closer "All the things I said were horrible. You probably hate me. I'm sorry"

"You're an idiot sometimes " He felt hands settling on his arms, thinking that this was the other trying to pry him off he stepped back, all the while keeping his eyes on the ground, unable to lift them and see the disgust he expected.

It wasn't like he thought Lysander would forgive him, it had been two years of friendship and six months of whatever that thing had been _–Lovers, you liked to call him that in your mind though you never admitted it-_ that he had coldly rejected when he'd thrown him out of his house a week before. Back then he had been thinking that the other man may well leave then since he eventually would, that they'd both be alright afterwards.

Then those same hands came to force his face upwards.

A tear slipping out of his right eye, that face he knew so well, thumbs stroking at his cheeks, Lysander stepping closer.

So they kissed, and it was as familiar as it was completely and utterly terrifying.

.

.

Lysander didn't make it back to his apartment that night.

Leigh would understand that is if he and Rosa even realized he was gone.

They tripped about seven times from the front door to Castiel's room, hormones taking control unsurprisingly quickly, considering that the beginning of this whole thing had entailed a similar scenario.

Castiel was treating him with uncanny softness though, like he would break. Lysander bit him for that, and the other growled, instantly turning more aggressive in his ministrations.

He landed on the bed where their last discussion had taken place, it was still as unmade as it always was and smelt faintly of the patchouli scent that Castiel's mother would add to the washer on the odd occasions that she and her husband came home.

Castiel hated the thing

They still needed to talk, and it was going to be awkward and probably pretty painful. Castiel had always had trouble trusting people and there were so many small things that made Lysander feel insecure about this whole affair. But he'd seen how much the other regretted his cruel words, even with how scant the redhead's words had been, Lysander knew him well enough to understand that it had been eating at him.

One more thing that he could say he had seen then was love, in the other's eyes, and maybe it was just him trying to fool himself because Castiel built fifty foot high fortresses around him, and it was probably a great amount of self-flattery to presume himself able to jump those. He thought, however that the other at least genuinely cared, and that could turn to love over time, as it had happened with him.

Then the redhead's hands slipped below the waistband of his pants.

And for the rest of that night he just didn't think anymore.

.

.

Neither of them made it to class the next day.

Castiel thought it was a bit of a shame; he'd actually planned to go.

He wasn't complaining though, waking up in time for lunch with a messy haired, thoroughly debauched, sleeping Lysander curled up next to him beat school hands down.

Also, it felt pretty damn nice. Which terrified him a little-a lot-, but that didn't mean he'd rather go back to sleeping bent over the armrest of the couch, cold and feeling like he had a bag of lead stuck inside his chest.

That stupidly sweet song that he'd caught Lysander composing the previous week had stopped playing in a loop in his mind.

Castiel started humming it anyway.

- _Love, it was love after all-_


End file.
